What We Should Be Thankful For
by KatZen
Summary: It takes a rescue within a rescue to remind the Tracys of what's important in their lives. One-shot. Sequel to Meet The In Laws


**Disclaimer: The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination. **

**AN: Rest of the AN is at the end, but major thanks to Little Miss Bump, who defined and explained what a one-shot was for me. **

What We Should Be Thankful For

Easter time had rolled around again and tensions were running high on Tracy Island, like they always did at this time of year.

Twenty years ago, to the very day, Lucille Tracy lost her life. Twenty years ago, to the very day, the fateful skiing holiday took a turn for the worse.

Jeff's eyes snapped open, and he rolled on his side, and faced an empty bed. Twenty years since he had woken up with someone by his side. Twenty years…

Twenty years was a long time. But even twenty years wasn't enough time to stop the pain from hurting.

* * *

John glanced out of the window onboard Thunderbird Five, instinctively looking towards the brightest star in the vicinity. Lucille's star.

John swallowed, unable to look away, even though he wanted to. With a sigh, he rested his forehead and hands on the glass, imprinting his form onto the window.

"Gone, but never forgotten," he murmured. "Mom, I really miss you."

* * *

Alan stumbled down the stairs towards the kitchen, feeling slightly sad, yet strangely void of emotion.

"Hi," he nodded to Gus, who was slouched and groaning at the table. "Morning sickness again?"

"Morning, evening and every hour in between," Gus moaned. "It was meant to have stopped by now."

"Here, try this." Alan set a steaming cup of herbal tea in front of Gus. "It would work wonders for Tin."

Gus took a tentative sip.

"Do you know where Virgil is? I need to talk to him."

Gus nodded. "Northern Beach."

With a grateful smile, Alan walked out of the kitchen and passed the pool, and his prank-pulling older brother. "I thought you'd be swimming, Gordo."

Gordon scowled at Alan. "First off, don't call me fat, because I'm not. I'm muscular. And secondly, I just don't feel like it. The water smells of roses."

Something inside Alan stirred, and it took him a few moments to realise it was jealousy. "Do you remember her, Gordon?"

"A bit. I remember how her hugs smelt of MnM cookies mixed with roses, how she'd ruffle her fingers through my hair as we watched 'Mr. Dishy and his Fishy Friends' and how she'd sing Bohemian Rhapsody to me to get me to sleep. Other than that, no; I don't remember much."

If possible, that answer just made Alan feel worse. Even Gordon remembered snippets of their mom. It just wasn't fair.

Without saying a word, Alan moved away from Gordon and headed to the beach.

* * *

Two pairs of feet scampered up the grassy hill in front of the waterfall.

"Daddy, Daddy," they chorused together. "Mommy's looking for you. She's sad."

Scott looked down at his son, and then at his daughter. "What's she sad about?"

His eldest child, a three and a half year old brunette with intense blue eyes, shrugged. "Don't know. Daddy, why are you here?" Mel tugged impatiently on her dad's empty hand. "It's all empty here. Except for that stone thingy."

The 'stone thingy' was in actual fact, a plaque dedicated to the memory of Lucille Tracy. It was currently adorned with an array of multi-coloured lilies and chrysanthemums, some wilting but most flowers were blooming.

"What's the stone thingy for?" Mel persisted. "Daddy, what does it do?"

"The stone thingy, is called a plaque, Mel," Scott began. "And it doesn't really do anything. It's here so that people will remember your grandma."

Instinctively, Luke slipped his hand into Scott's hand, and Scott gave it a little squeeze.

"She would have been the nice grandma, right Daddy? Not the mean one."

"Yes Mel. She would have been the best grandma in the world." Scott cleared his throat, pushing past the lump that had formed. "Now, how about we go back and see what Mom wanted?"

* * *

"Virgil, am I a bad person?"

The question startled Virgil out of his train of thought. He craned his neck skywards, only to see the silhouette of his brother blocking the sun. "No," he replied, shocked. "You're not a bad person. Why would you think that?"

Heaving a weary sigh, Alan fell to his knees, and fiddled with the sand, letting it trickle through the gaps in his fingers.

"Alan? You haven't answered the question."

"You know what? It doesn't matter anymore."

"It matters to me," Virgil whispered softly. "Whatever it is, it's obviously upsetting you. So, it matters to me."

"I don't remember her. I don't know who I'm supposed to be grieving for." Alan waited for Virgil to explode at him for the major betrayal to the memory of their mother. "Every Easter, I wait to feel that huge surge of overwhelming grief that you feel, but it never happens. I just feel a little sad, and it's because all you guys are hurting around me."

Virgil inhaled. "I can't say I'm surprised."

"You knew how I felt?"

"I had an inkling. Listen, Alan, you are not a bad person. You were two when Mom passed on. I'd have been shocked if you did remember her. I would have passed out cold. It's only natural that you don't remember much about her. So, no, I don't think you're a bad person. I think you're human."

Alan scooted closer to Virgil, and rested his head on Virgil's shoulder. "Thanks, Virg."

"What for?"

Before Alan could murmur his reply, the emergency klaxon sounded round the island.

"That's us. We'd better go."

* * *

"Check the co-ordinates again, John. It can't be there."

Jeff could hear John tapping away at his data panel. "It is. Dad, I've triple and quadrupled checked."

Jeff sucked in some breath, and pursed his lips as though he was sucking on lemons. "I'd rather they didn't go there. Today of all days."

John nodded in agreement. "But, it's their choice. I think they would want to go."

"Go where?"

All four brothers sauntered into the living room, which had been changed into Command and Control.

Jeff swivelled round to face them. "We've had a call for a rescue. In the mountains. It was an avalanche."

Scott and Virgil glanced uneasily at each other.

"I'm not going to lie to you," Jeff continued, "I'd rather you didn't go, today of all days. But, it's your choice. If you want to go, I'm not going to stop you. Triage is not needed, however."

Scott nodded and moved towards the portrait that would take him to Thunderbird One. "I'm going."

Virgil followed suit. "Gotta go with Captain Courageous."

'Like Beavis and Butthead, the pair of them,' Gordon thought with a small smile as he and Alan trailed after his brother. 'You'll never get one without the other.'

Jeff stared at his sons' retreating backs and whispered, "Be careful. Stay safe. Don't let history repeat itself."

* * *

Scott and Alan finished setting up Mobile Control on the thick blanket of snow.

"So, according to the resort manager, who's in charge," Alan began, "There are-"

"A helluva lot of people buried under the snow," Scott's facial muscles twitched, as he flipped the pages of the missing persons list. A sure sign that he was tense and worried. "There's over two hundred people missing. Most of them are school kids. They're probably panicking, and have forgotten to turn their GPS locator on."

Alan placed a comforting hand on Scott's shoulder. "Scott, are you-"

"I'm fine Alan. The people trapped, however, are not. So let's get started with a plan of action, OK?"

Quietly, the brothers poured over the data panels on Mobile Control, scanning the scene with a body heat sensor at regular intervals, offering suggestions to one another and mentally listing all the equipment they would need to use.

"Wish Thunderbird Two would hurry up," Alan muttered under his breath. "The seismic sensor indicates that another avalanche is imminent."

Scott cursed under his subconsciously held breath. "That complicates things. Come on, hurry up Virg."

"Thunderbird Two to Mobile Control," Virgil's voice crackled through the speakers.

"Go ahead, Thunderbird Two," Scott replied. "What's your ETA?"

"Well, we're here," there was a slight hesitation, "but we don't know where we're meant to land. There simply isn't enough stability in the snow for Thunderbird Two's mass."

"There's an empty field about half a kilometre from here. You can plough your way back here through the snow," Alan supplied.

"Will do. See you in a few."

* * *

"Snowplough to Mobile Control," Gordon said.

"Go ahead, Snowplough."

"We've finished checking this quadrant of the search area. We haven't found anyone."

"Understood," Alan replied. He turned to Scott, who was talking to the other rescue services. "Hey, how many people are unaccounted for?"

"Just under ninety. Have they found any more?"

Alan shook his head. "That quadrant was empty."

Scott swallowed a sigh. The chances of a successful rescue had reduced. "Tell them to move onto the next quadrant."

Alan turned away. "Scott says move onto the next quadrant. It looks more promising, rescue-wise."

"FAB. Snowplough out."

Alan went back to monitoring the computers and data panels integrated into Mobile Control, a strange vibe creeping up his spine. On the spur of the moment, he glanced up, just in time to see a paint coating of white slide easily down the mountain face and settle as quickly as it slid down.

"No," Alan whispered to himself, his insides freezing. "Not this. Not now."

On the other side of him, Scott was frantically trying to raise his brothers. "Mobile Control to Snowplough. Come in, Snowplough. Do you read, Snowplough? Are we coming through? Dammit, Snowplough! Answer me!"

The only reply was the whine of the otherwise silent speaker.

* * *

Virgil groaned, and raised his head slightly. "Gords, you OK?" He hesitated. "Gords?"

Grabbing a torch; the lights in the Snowplough had fused on impact with the avalanche, Virgil shone the dim light around his surroundings. "Gordon, just tell me you're OK."

"Hmmm? 'M fine. You?" Gordon squinted towards the sound of Virgil's voice.

"Me? I'm sweet and dandy." Virgil shone the light in Gordon's direction, and gasped at the pool of crimson. "You're bleeding. Where've you been hurt?"

"It's nothing," Gordon dismissed, not wanting to draw attention to his injury. "It's just a nick. It'll stop bleeding soon."

"I'll be the judge of that," Virgil ordered, trying to wrestle Gordon's hand away from his side. "As the only medical officer on scene, I command you to show me your hand."

Wincing, Gordon removed his fingers from his palm, aware of the blood that started to trickle out of the wound.

"There's glass in here," Virgil murmured, as he shone the light into the cut. "How did glass get in here?"

"The window shattered in the avalanche," Gordon supplied, "I guess I must have fallen on the pieces or something."

"Well, what do you know; Brains' new and improved shatterproof glass was beating by a giant snowball," Virgil deadpanned, causing Gordon to release a bubble of laughter. "I think that's the first time one of Brains' inventions hasn't worked."

"There's a first time for everything."

"Yep, there is. Listen, Gordy, I'm going to have to get the glass out. This will hurt a bit." Virgil scrambled around for a small first aid box and snapped on his gloves.

Using a pair of forceps, Virgil eased the shards out of Gordon's cut, carefully placing them in a mini bio-hazardous bag. "The glass is out. Now, I'm going to apply some antiseptic to the cut, just to be on the safe side."

Gordon yanked his hand back. "No! No antiseptic. It hurts like hell and stings like sh-"

"Yes, Gordon, I understand you dislike antiseptic. But, you are getting it, whether you like it or not. Now, give me your hand."

Pouting and frowning at the medic, Gordon held out his hand, hissing in pain when the iodine traced lightly over the sore. "There, are you happy?"

"Absolutely. Now, I'll stitch you up, and then…" Virgil trailed off, glancing out the window. "I'd normally say you're free to go, but I don't think we'll be going anywhere any time soon. We're snowed in."

Gordon rolled his eyes exasperated, and shot Virgil a 'no kidding' look. "Virgil, why aren't the lights working?"

"Fused. Part of the safety features of the Snowplough so that the lights don't over heat and start a fire while any one of us is trapped."

"I see." Gordon paused, unsure whether or not to voice the question that was burning on the tip of his tongue. "Virg, they are looking for us, right? They haven't given up on us, have they?"

* * *

"Alright!" Scott yelled out over the panicked din of the search and rescue team, his natural commanding instincts kicking in. "I need two groups. People who have been working in the snow for over two hours, move to the back."

No-one moved an inch.

"Today would be helpful!"

The large party split into two, majority of the people stepping back. Scott's eyes swivelled round the group in front of him, quickly counting the number of rescuers who were going to help them.

"Get forty four shovels, spades and anything else which can scoop copious amounts of snow away."

"FAB, Scott. You're the boss." Alan moved away, ready to scrounge around for the required pieces of equipment. He returned a short while later, an assortment of shovels, spades, scoops, cones and cups in his arms. "Here you go, Scott."

"Excellent. Everyone grab something and let's go." Swinging a shovel over his shoulder, Scott turned on his heel and led the way through the cloak of snow.

* * *

"Virg?"

"Yes?"

"Brrr. It's cold in here. There must be something lacking in the atmosphere."

Virgil held back a smile. "Gordon, we're not in school anymore. You can stop remembering those ultra annoying cheers now."

"I'm not kidding; it really is cold in here."

Virgil stood up, walked to the supply cabinet and pulled out a thick, woollen green blanket. Without saying a word, Virgil wrapped the blanket round Gordon, and hugged him tightly. "Hold on, Gords. They're coming."

"Butthead's coming for us," Gordon murmured, his teeth chattering and hands shivering slightly. The blanket wasn't helping much.

"Yep, Alan's coming."

"Actually," Gordon countered, smirking, "I was talking about Scott."

* * *

"Scott," Alan asked quietly and tentatively. "Does Base know?"

"Yes."

"And Base Commander is…?"

"Not allowed to come and join the search. He may be our boss, but right now, he's nothing more than an anxious, blubbering mess who is fretting over our bro-" Scott broke off, suddenly aware that nearly everyone was ear-wigging in on their supposedly private conversation. "Our brown haired medic and red-head prankster. I'll let him know what's happening once we find them."

Alan glanced down at his watch, noting the time. "Statistics tell us that within the first hour, the chance of survival decreases by just over half. What happens if we're too late? Scott, what if they didn't-"

"No," Scott cut him off. "Do NOT say it. We are NOT too late. We are never too late. Especially not today. They are fine. They will be fine. They have to be."

* * *

"Gordon, you feeling any warmer?"

"Yeah. You can have the blanket, if you want." Gordon began to unwrap himself from the green cocoon, only to stop as Virgil yelled no.

"You need the blanket more than me, Gords. I'll be fine." Virgil pulled his knees up to his chest, trying to conserve as much body heat as possible.

"But I'm fine," Gordon insisted. "You're the one that's shivering. You need the blanket more than me."

"You're the one that's headed towards the second stage of hypothermia. Now put that blanket back on. Don't make me come there and do it for you!"

Gordon obliged, not being able to find an inner strength to protest.

'Please come soon. Please find us soon. Gordon can't hold up much longer,' Virgil thought, before he closed his eyes and opened them again, fully aware of the severity of the situation.

* * *

Scott stopped trudging through the snow, causing Alan to run into the back of him.

"What is it?"

"They're here."

"But," Alan protested. "The portable scanners haven't registered any live life form."

"I can see that. But I know they're here. I don't know how I know; I just do. Trust me on this." Scott held Alan's inquisitive gaze. "Do you trust me?"

Alan didn't hesitate. "Yes, Scott. I do trust you."

"Glad to hear it. Now, add a couple of metres leeway on the dimensions of the Snowplough, and we have the boundaries for our search area." Scott placed highly visible red markers in the snow, and whistled to gather everyone's attention. "The red markers are the limits to the search area. Start digging. Be aware, there may be small cave-ins of snow. The sooner we get them out, the better."

* * *

"Virgil, y-y-you know f-f-f-fish are f-f-friends, not f-food, right?"

"Nemo, huh? Yeah, I knew that. And I wouldn't eat you anyway. Not enough meat on those bones of yours."

Virgil couldn't help noticing Gordon's skin had tinged blue, and that he was stumbling over his words. With trepidation, Virgil glanced down at his own skin, which was pale and clammy and cold to the touch.

Not a promising sign.

"W-W-Why is it so cold in here?"

"We've been snowed in." Virgil mentally noted the disorientation.

"Want t-t-to get h-h-home."

"I know you do. The guys will get us out of here soon and then we can," Virgil reassured, while placing a trembling hand on Gordon's neck, feeling for a pulse.

"Maybe, if I just…" Gordon trailed off slowly, his words dying into silence.

"No, Gordon, come on, stay with me," Virgil cajoled, slapping Gordon's cheek, as his eyelids drifted closed.

* * *

"I've hit something!"

Scott and Alan let their spades fall to the snow as they scrambled towards the sound of the voice. Hastily, Alan used his hands to swipe the snow away. "We're near the front! We're nearly there! Come on! Keep digging!"

* * *

A flicker of hope re-kindled inside Virgil. He'd just heard scraping sounds through the roof of the Snowplough.

"We're here! We're OK!" Virgil yelled, racing up from his seated position, ignoring the feeling that he had just swallowed a beach full of sand.

"Gordon, wake up, they've found us."

Gordon burrowed his head into the blanket. "No, Mommy, don't want to get up. Too cold."

"Oh, Gordon, I know you don't want to get up," Virgil stroked Gordon's head lightly. "But if you get up now, Scott and Alan can take you to a warmer place and you can sleep to your heart's content."

"Promise?"

Virgil nodded.

"Pinkie swear."

Virgil nodded again. "Pinkie swear."

"Virgil, Gordon, you alright in there?"

"I'm fine, Alan," Virgil yelled back. "Gordon needs medical attention, though."

"What's wrong with him?" Scott's voice broke into the conversation as his hand broke through the quilting of snow covering the machine.

"He's suffering from hypothermia. Moderate to serious hypothermia. We need to warm him up and fast."

"What about you, Virg?"

"A little shivery, but in a much better condition compared to Gordon. I'll send him up first."

Stiffly, Virgil bent down and gathered a bundled up Gordon in his arms. "Gords, just stay awake for a few minutes. We're trying to get you out. Then you can go back and sleep, OK?"

Gordon groaned, "If you say so."

"Good man. Now, I'm going to pass you up to Scott and Alan. They'll take care of you."

Carefully, Scott pulled Gordon out of the Snowplough, and wrapped him up in another blanket. He gave his brother a quick look over, before passing Gordon over to Alan. "Get him to Thunderbird Two, warm him up. When Virg comes, and get them both to a hospital. Full speed, Alan."

"FAB, Scott." Alan led Gordon away, constantly rubbing him to warm him up.

Scott turned back to the Snowplough, and hauled Virgil out as well. "You OK?"

Virgil nodded, as he accepted a thick blanket and wrapped it round himself. "What about the people we were meant to rescue?"

Scott pretended not to hear his younger brother.

"Scott, tell me, what happened to the people we were meant to rescue."

Scott swallowed. "The other rescue services went to them. No-one survived."

Virgil turned away, shoulders slumped. Guilt seared through his body, and he made no attempt to hide that.

"Virg, this wasn't your fault."

"Scott, don't. Just don't say it," Virgil held up his hands, indicating that the subject was closed. "Now, I want to see Gordon. Where is he?"

* * *

"Here, Gordon, drink this." Alan handed Gordon a steaming mug of hot chocolate and an energy bar.

Gordon took the mug, some hot chocolate slopping out the sides as his hands trembled violently.

"Here, Gords, let me hold the mug, and you just sip." Alan rescued the mug from Gordon's unresisting hands, and gently guided it to his open mouth. "I have to let Dad know we've found you. You'll be OK for a minute?"

Gordon nodded, although Alan couldn't tell whether it was a voluntary nod or a nod due to the hypothermia.

"Thunderbird Two to Base," called Alan.

"Go ahead, Thunderbird Two. How are they?" Jeff couldn't quite keep the impatient worry out of his voice.

"They're alive. Gordon has moderate hypothermia. As soon as Virgil gets here, I'm taking both of them to Mountain West Hospital, just to be on the safe side."

"Right, I'll meet you there. Base out."

* * *

Scott hurriedly ran through pre-flight checks on board Thunderbird One. After depositing Virgil at Thunderbird Two, and reassuring the police that he would be back to collect the Snowplough, and checking that the rescue site was safe and stable to leave, all Scott wanted to was to check up on his brothers.

He glanced up at his control panel, and programmed the co-ordinates of the hospital into the auto-pilot. He surveyed the site one last time through the windshield of his 'Bird, and finally left the site, heading towards his brothers; the place he should have been hours ago.

* * *

Jeff pushed his jet just that much faster, praying for a tailwind to come and help him out. "Come on, come on! I know you can go faster than this!"

'Talking to yourself, now, Tracy. That's the first sign of madness,' he thought, with a slight snort. Jeff felt fully justified in his madness. Heck, he would have felt fully justified in being ballistic. He thought he had ingrained the need for self- preservation into his sons, especially as they worked in the rescue services. Obviously, he hadn't done a good job of it. There had been too many injuries to his sons during rescues lately. Although, in all fairness, this wasn't actually something they could have prevented.

A soft knock on the cabin door jolted Jeff out of his thought and back into reality. "Yes?"

Tin-Tin poked her head round the door. "Has there been any more news?"

"Scott called in about ten minutes ago. Said he was leaving the site for the hospital, which means he should be landing there in two minutes. Yes, it's that close. I haven't had any more news from Alan about Gordon or Virgil."

Tin-Tin sucked in some air. "I see. What's our ETA?"

"Judging by the winds, I'd say half an hour at best."

* * *

Scott marched into the hospital's ER waiting room, very aware of the attention he was attracting. He was just thankful he had the sense to wear his translucent helmet in there, protecting him from prying eyes.

With a sigh, he stood at the back of the line leading towards a desk, tapping his foot impatiently, even though he really wanted to barge his way to the front.

The line crept forward, as did Scott, until he was face-to-face with a glass window.

"Can I help you?" the nurse seated behind the glass asked, without looking up at Scott.

"Yes. Two of my colleagues were brought here. Could you tell me where they are, please?"

Finally, the nurse looked up and stared at Scott, dumbstruck.

"And they are where exactly?" Scott prompted after a few moments.

"Umm," she glanced down at her computer, and tapped away at her keyboard. "Fourth floor. Take the lift up, and then take the first left and second right. They're right there."

"Fourth floor, first let, second right, got it," Scott recited, making sure he remembered correctly. "Thank you."

Quickly, he made his way to the lift, and jabbed the up button relentlessly. In no time at all, he barrelled his way to the secured area of the ward, and ran into Alan.

"What's happened?"

Alan shook his head. "I don't know. They won't let me in while they're checking."

Scott simply nodded and began pacing up and down the corridor like a trapped lion. He paused briefly, to pour out a cup of stale, watered down coffee and handing it to Alan. "You look like you could use it."

"I can. And could you please stop pacing around? You're making my eyes hurt."

Scott mumbled an apology and began to pace again.

"Scott," Alan warned, standing up from his seat.

"I'm sorry! I can't help it!"

Without saying a word, Alan grabbed Scott by the arm, and dragged him to a chair. "Now stay there, otherwise I'll sit on you and make you stay there."

Conceding defeat, Scott slumped down on the chair, and ran a tired hand down his face. He sat up with a start and tapped Alan on the shoulder, when he saw a doctor leave the room.

Without missing a beat, the pair made their way towards doctor, ready to extract everything out of him.

"Ah yes, International Rescue," the doctor greeted them with a small smile, his obsidian eyes boring holes into the two brothers. "I'm Dr. Pattison, and I've been looking after your team mates."

"How are they?" Alan blurted out, before Scott could.

"Both will be fine. Gordon is suffering from severe hypothermia, and Virgil is suffering from mild hypothermia. As Gordon is suffering from severe hypothermia, we have him on hemodialysis."

"Hemodialysis," Scott repeated. "What exactly is hemodialysis?"

"It is like a dialysis machine," Dr. Pattison explained, "only instead of filtering the blood we are rapidly warming the blood up before it is inserted back into his body. Please, try not to worry. As I've said before, your brothers really will be alright."

Now it was Scott and Alan's turn to bore holes into the good doctor with their eyes.

"You may not realise this, but to a total stranger, your physical characteristics are similar to one another, as are your emotional ones. It is clear that all four of you are closely related to each other, and what relationship is closer than the bond of brotherhood? And don't worry," the doctor paused. "I'll keep this under doctor-patient confidentiality. You can go in and see them, you know. They were asking for you."

With a slight smile, Scott twisted the doorknob and went inside.

* * *

Jeff's tyres squealed against the tarmac, as he swerved violently into an empty car space. He jumped out of the car, slamming the door behind him, and marched into the hospital, straight to the lift.

The lift couldn't come soon enough, in his opinion. Jeff had to see his sons, hold his sons just to convince himself that they really were fine. As soon as the doors hissed open, he was sprinting down the corridors, desperate to reassure himself that history had not managed to repeat itself.

He reached the door, and stopped, his hand resting lightly on the knob. Taking a moment to compose himself, Jeff slowly twisted the knob and entered the room.

The sight broke his heart, but in a good way. Alan was curled up on the foot of Gordon's bed. Gordon sat upright, attached to his machine. On the other bed, Scott lay on the end of Virgil's bed, his legs trailing on the floor, while Virgil sat leaning against the headrest.

Alan looked up to the door and grinned. "Dad! You're here!"

"Of course I am," Jeff moved in between the beds, absentmindedly stroking Virgil and Gordon's hair. "So, what were you talking about when I came in?"

"Gordon decided that after that rescue, it was time to remind ourselves what we have going for us in our lives. Basically, we have to list everything we're thankful for," Scott explained.

"Everyone's gone, except for Gordon," Virgil continued, amused, "and you."

"Well son," Jeff offered, "after you."

Gordon threw him a mock glare. "Alright, I'm thankful for the fact that I have three wonderful older brothers, and one not-so-wonderful younger brother." Gordon twitched to avoid the slap that was headed his way. "I'm thankful to Virgil, who constantly kept me warm and looked after me down there, and I'm thankful that Scott and Alan didn't give up on us. In a nutshell, I'm thankful for the family I have."

Jeff smiled knowingly at his sons. He had a feeling they had all said something like that. He cleared his throat, ready to speak.

"Today has reminded me that there are many things I should be thankful for," Jeff began. "My business, my house, my friends are simply one of the few things I'm thankful for. But the thing I'm most thankful for are you boys. I'm thankful that my sons are always alright in the end. I'm thankful for my boys."

**AN: So, so, so deeply sorry about the long wait. I've been having a real busy time, and things haven't been too great for me, as I've been sick a lot quite recently.**

**Anyway, that was my first attempt at a one-shot… think I might just stick to multi-chapters in the future. I didn't plan for it to be quite this long. **

**And speaking of stories, John's story will not be posted on fanfiction .net. Instead, it will be posted on my deviant art (link is on my profile page) as deviant art allows me more flexibility with the layout of the story. If you'd like me to send you a PM when I post/update his story, let me know, and I'll do that. **

**Other than that, please review. I crave to know your thoughts.**


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